Shadows
The moon was full as Soujirou ran through the forest, he paid no care to the few sounds that he made. There was no one about. The dark trees would have scared a brave as the wind blew them, creating haunting sounds. In near by villages people huddled by their fires and dared not go outside. Demons were said to be walking the night's winds.
He stopped. Breathing slightly faster than normal, he looked around and smiled. Graves, he shook his head, what was the point? The weak are dead. There is no resting while you are alive and once you are dead, what does it matter?
Resting against a tree, he waited. The moon set and the stars faded into the shine of the day as the sun rose into the lightening sky. Soujirou was patient and only watched the sun pass over him with a careful eye. He was only interested in the time not wasted time.
It was nearly sunset when he heard a slight noise to his left. Not changing his expression, he stood up from where he had been sitting and faced the approaching man.
Slightly stooped, with a long nose and cunning eyes, the man was old but moved with surprising agility. He stopped in front of Soujirou, pausing, before dipping his back in a brief bow.
"You are the one they call Tenken?" He asked, knowing the truth of the young man before his eyes, "The one who seeks knowledge of the Battousai?"
"That is what I am called, old man and I do seek information, get on with it." His tone with pleasant enough, the old man thought, but underneath there was a sheer nothingness that sent a small shiver down his spine. The Tenken could not be trusted.
"I am Hashimoto Kensuke of the Eastern Yakuza in Tokyo," he bowed again, by no means did he consider himself lesser than the boy, but the boy must be arrogant and so would be appeased at his sign of submission.
When he raised his head the boy was still staring at him, with but a small smile of his face. Hashimoto felt a small sting of annoyance, but only a flicker of true emotion flashed very briefly in his eyes, before he become welcoming once more.
"I told you to get on with it," the Tenken said. Hashimoto was frowning inside. Wouldn't say his name, eh? He thought, narrowing his eyes, what was so wrong?
"Yes. Kenshin Himura, the one known as the Battousai is residing in a run down dojo." He started.
"A dojo? Hmm, continue." Soujirou murmured, before waving his hand at Hashimoto.
"The dojo belongs to a young woman, of the name of Kaoru Kamiya and her apprentice Yahiko. The boy was a pickpocket and was paying off a debt to the Red Yakuza before the Battousai... rectified that."
"It's unusual that a woman would be teaching and practicing a style."Soujirou said, staring at the katana at his waist, "What can you tell me of the Battousai's woman?"
"She, she's an orphan, her mother died in her childhood while her father died slightly more than two years ago. He fought during Bakumatsu and afterwards took up teaching. Her dojo is not very successful, she has had little luck with attracting students," Hashimoto sneered.
"How interesting," Soujirou smiled at the man, "Please continue."
"A man, a former fighter for hire, also frequents. Sanosuke Sagara. As well as a woman, Megumi Takini. She was a former opium maker, who worked for a local distributor, the distributor also had the services of one Aoshi Shinomori. Before he died." Hasimoto grinned.
Nodding, Soujirou says, "Thank you for your services." There is a clink of coin, as Soujirou passes the man a small bag. Hasimoto's light up and he nods in return.
"I hope you realize the consequences if you speak of this to someone?" There is a scarping of a blade against a sheath and Hashimoto nods, and bows deeply.
There is a whisper of air moving and Hasimoto looks up and sees nothing. He whips his head around, trying to find a trace of the Tenken.
There is no one in sight. Looking down he sights only the most minute traces of footprints before the earth is torn up and disturbed. Hashimoto shivers and pockets the money. That boy, he thinks, he is far too deadly for comfort.
Frowning, he wonders what this boy has in mind. The Battousai. He must have a death wish to go up against a man like the Battousai. Hashimoto then remembers the rumours he has heard, of a dark force of power in Kyoto. A former manslayer. Another killer.
What plan was being implemented?
Shaking his head, Hashimoto starts walking back to Tokyo. It's better, safer, if he does only his orders and does not questions. It wouldn't be the first time.
Night has fallen by the time Soujirou has arrived in Tokyo. It wasn't the first time he had visited the capital, but this time, it was a first. A first because he knew that the Battousai was here.
He knew as well as any other the tales that surrounded the legendary Battousai. Shishio had downplayed them, but still, Soujirou knew that one had to be strong to gain the repuation that the Battousai had.
Bloodthirsty. The rumours that he was ten feet tall were probably false. Cruel. He most likely didn't wear the teeth of a thousand dead children either. Powerful. And he most likely didn't ravish twenty women before bed.
The people were unaware of the killer that pasted through them. Battousai or Tenken. Soujirou would be barely remembered by those who had seen him, forgotten by the morning if but for his smile.
It was dark, and fire and chatter began to dim as he entered a more residential sector. A cry of child. A dog barking. The clatter of utensils. Soothing voices, quiet voices, mothers bidding their children a good night, gentle kisses to smooth foreheads.
In the dark it was hard to see, but Soujirou made his way confidently to a tree. In one quick effortless leap he clambered up the branches. There as a near silent thud and he retreated into the shadows's of the tree's limbs.
There were quite a few hours until daylight and this was only day one of his watching. Soujirou settled in calmly, intending on taking a few hours of sleep before the sun rose.
Day soon dawned and the dojo and it's residents stirred with it. The first person up had to be the Battousai. The scar on his cheek declared him as that and Soujirou doubted there were two men at the same place with such a distinctive scar.
But... this man was small. Delicate looking almost. There was a katana at his side, yes, and his pace moved to accommadate it. And yet this man seemed like nothing compared to the stories Soujirou had been told.
His eyes were not the vivid gold that Shishio had described to him. They were purple, Soujirou wondered if the Battousai had any gaijin in him. The hair was bright and red and hung messily in a low ponytail. It wasn't the high samurai style that he should have been wearing. How could this man be the Battousai?
Soujirou watched this man make the breakfast, hang up the laundry and be scolded. Where was the manslayer? The man who killed thousands and now whose blood was still lusted over. People wanted to kill this man, his ki was strong, but he didn't act strong. Soujirou frowned slightly as he thought this over, confused.
Him! This was the Battousai and he did a woman's chores, was the Battousai so weakened by peace that he had succumb to this paltry existence.
Perhaps, Soujirou thought, he would be more receptive to Shishio than imagined. Soujirou smiled.
AN: Sorry for the delays in updating, writers block in Fresh yet me hard. Thank you very much for your reviews however!
I was wondering how long any thinks this should pan out? Should we end it as the Kyoto arc begins? (which would be right now I suppose or soon) Or continue? Thanks for your thoughts!